


And then he did a dance I never saw before

by doctorziegler



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Closeted Character, Dirty Dancing, Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, First Meetings, Lapdance, M/M, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Trans Male Character, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 06:36:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9110926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorziegler/pseuds/doctorziegler
Summary: While on a trip to Los Angeles, Midwestern born-and-raised Jack Morrison and a group of friends decide to waste some cash at a popular strip club— unbeknownst to Jack, however, is that his friends have a little something up their sleeve that the semi-closeted virgin isn'tquiteexpecting:A surprise by the name of Gabriel Reyes, dancer extraordinaire, and the most beautiful man Jack's ever laid eyes on.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this is pretty drabble-ish / kind of choppy so i apologize if it leaves you craving more, mainly because it was used as an introductory thread to a. kind of. stupidly intricate au i write with my spouse that i'm really stupidly attached to OTL
> 
> gabriel is a trans man blah blah typical heads up for that sort of thing. if i write gabe, he's trans. just accept that as a fact.
> 
> (and, yes, that's a 'down in mexico' lyric as the title. kudos to you if you caught that little easter egg.)
> 
> [ [twitter](https://twitter.com/heatvisions) / [nsfw twitter](https://twitter.com/DOOOMZO) ]

The last time Jack had been in a 'gentleman's club', it had been in the next town over back home in Indiana, and it had really just been a shitty bar with two stripper poles and very bored looking dancers. His high school friends had gaped like slack-jawed idiots, and Jack had hunched his shoulders and looked anywhere but at the push-up bras and thongs the women were wearing. He'd personally gotten nothing out of the technically-illegal adventure but a massive sense of embarrassment and a smack on the head from his mother when he'd been dragged home by a neighbor.

Now, here he was, head rattling from the deep pulse of the music, one hand shoved awkwardly into his jeans' pocket, the other gripping a glass of beer. Jack was again trying to avoid looking at the stage, but in this _enormous_ club there was no way to do that, not with dozens of miniature stages or even tables with dancers on them. The lights flashed over the sweat-flecked planes of bodies of all colors and shapes, but the real difference between the last time and this was that they were all _men._

Said men were no less naked, in most cases, though he was pretty sure he'd spotted a guy in a cowboy hat and chaps on the other side of the room. Jack took a hard swallow of the cold brew he had in hand, attempting to clear his head— _and_ the smell of sweat and body-oil from his nose.

His friends had insisted, though most of them were next door, at the connected sister-club, where the dancers were all women; this was, apparently, what happened when you brought a gaggle of horny country boys to Los Angeles. Jack had quickly fled to this side of the building, but he wasn't sure that had been a good idea either; though he felt extremely awkward around scantily clad women, he had not been around this many naked men since his high school locker room and it was more than a little overwhelming. Jack knew, without a doubt, that he was attracted to men, but he'd pushed it to the back of his mind, unsure of how his family would react if he brought it up, yet here it was, shaking its metaphorical and literal ass in his face.

He took another drink, sliding into a seat that was unfortunately near to the main stage, but out of the way enough that he could relax at least a little bit.

 _And_ watch, of course, though he felt lecherous doing so, though he had _paid_ to do this; _god, Morrison, you huge prude—_

It didn't help matters any that the man currently working the stage was absolutely stunning. He was horribly, enchantingly Jack's type, a type he didn't even realize he had until _just this moment;_ thick and muscular and graceful, with dark skin and dark hair and a smirk on his face. Jack nearly bit into his glass when he felt heat rise in his face; he knew for a fact he was not he only one staring, but he still felt like he was going to get caught doing something he shouldn't, somehow, watching the man's thick hips and thighs twist. He wore all black leather and it positively shone in the club's neon lights, and when he turned his back to Jack he could see sweat pooling in the small of his back before it flew off from the unrelenting force of his motion.

Jack ordered another beer.

He was _not_ going to survive this, was he?

As it were, Gabriel— otherwise known as 'Reaper' to patrons and clients alike, due to the fact that he could allegedly 'suck a man's soul straight through his dick'— hadn't _always_ been the star of the show.

He'd started out just like anyone else in the club, busting tables and mixing drinks— then, one day, a rich club-goer had bought him just _enough_ drinks that he'd felt obligated to offer up a special show, and a tipsy lap dance had turned into a head-turning, career-altering strip show on the main stage, with every single pair of eyes in the club fixed exclusively on him.

After that night, Gabriel'd been promoted from waiter to dancer, and from dancer, to _star_ , the guy the club owner bragged about, the one whose ass was on all the advertisements, the stripper _everybody_ wanted to hop out of their cake on their twenty-first birthday.

Ah, but his mother would be so _proud_. 

Gabriel grabbed a bottle of water from backstage and doused himself with it, soaking the floor with every step he took on the way back to the communal dressing room. He had about fifteen minutes to freshen up, rid himself of all of this sweat and get back out there, to satisfy some country boy's wild Californian fantasy, or something like it. All Gabriel had been told was that the guy's name was Jack something-or-other, and he was here visiting, and his friends wanted him to apparently pop his first boner in _public_ , as horny alpha-male types were wont to do to their lesser brethren. They'd shelled out a ton of cash for the privilege of Gabriel's time, and Gabriel hoped that hicks from Indiana at least knew well enough to actually _tip_ their dancers.

Christ. _Indiana_. Gabriel could only imagine what sort of _loser—_ he was probably going to be ugly as all hell, too—

Gabriel switched outfits once, then twice, unsure of what kind of aesthetic this 'Jack' was most interested in. He finally decided on a slight variation of what he'd had on before: knee-high, low-heeled black boots; sinfully tight latex shorts that hugged his ass _just_ right; elbow-length leather gloves; all topped off with a dog collar and as many of his piercings as he had time to put in before he'd run out of time. 

Taking a deep breath—  _and_ a shot of fireball whiskey, his usual pre-show warm-up—, Gabriel headed out, hips swaying provocatively as he approached the table he'd been told his client was waiting at.

"Interested in some company tonight, _papi—_?" 

Gabriel's brown eyes widened as soon as his gaze met Jack's, the man's appearance catching him completely by surprise. _Ah, fuck. Great, good. Just my luck._

_He's **hot**._

Suddenly several jealous glares were directed Jack's way and he felt his heart stop briefly, in the middle of downing his third beer of the evening, his cheeks flushed pink with heat and booze. The man leaning on his table was the one from the stage, the one he had felt a severe pang of disappointment about when he had gone off-stage.

He just kind of... _stared_ at Gabriel for a long moment, visibly caught off-guard, swallowing with some difficulty. "Uh—"

From what Gabriel could tell, his client for the next few minutes was actually only about Gabriel's own age, all proper-cut blond hair and the biggest blue eyes; the absolute epitome of the cute, probably-virginal farm-boy stereotype, and probably the 'dumb blond' one too, if his lack of a verbal response was any indication.

"That's..." _Shit_ , Jack was too tipsy to deal with this, and the irresistible dancer was _really_ close to him, raising one dark eyebrow at him. He was _so hot—_ he could _feel_ his friends egging him on from across the room, and realized they were probably the ones that had sent, had _hired_ this guy for him in the first place, the bastards. "I... don't know if I can _pay_ for your company."

"Don't worry, baby," Gabriel encouraged, his voice like something out of one of Jack's deepest, darkest fantasies— all honey and black velvet and wicked promises of things to come. "Cost's already been covered." He cocked his head in the vague direction of Jack's group of friends at the bar, most of which were snickering from behind raised thumbs, fist-pumps, hollers, and beer mugs. "Nice friends you've got."

Gabriel couldn't keep the smirk out of his voice, his full lips turned upward into a flirtatious, hungry sort of grin. Shit, this guy was _cut_ , and that t-shirt wasn't doing much to disguise his homegrown, all-American muscles— "They'll probably be _really_ disappointed if you turn me away. Club doesn't do refunds, either." Gabriel had to speak loud enough to make sure he was heard over the music, which had just switched over to something he'd requested the DJ play for however long this lap dance might last for. _For you, baby-blues, I might just give a little extra_. 

When the beat finally reached him, Gabriel's body began to react, almost entirely out of reflex; yeah, Jack hadn't responded yet, but he wouldn't _really_ say no to this, would he? Gabriel's hips swayed enticingly as he took another step forward, planting his foot on the couch, heeled boot digging into the cushion right next to Jack's hip. He stretched like that, showing off the inside of his thigh—  _and_ his flexibility, no doubt— before hopping up _onto_ the couch, crotch near enough to Jack's face that he could practically smell the latex.

Jack leaned back instinctively, eyes widening and inhaling sharply. He was thankful he had already put his glass down, or else he'd probably have spilled it all over himself. He could _feel_ the jealous eyes of other patrons, watching the sleek muscles of the dancer's back and ass as he moved, like he had been when the man had been on stage.

Even if he had wanted to refuse— which he _didn't_ ; why the fuck would he— he couldn't _speak_. Jack's throat closed up in embarrassment and arousal, glancing up the length of Gabriel's thick thighs, over the curve of his hips and the bulge in his shorts, up and over his abs.

Jesus Christ, he was beautiful.

Beautiful, _and_ with his crotch was in Jack's face, _and_ he was smirking at him with the most attractive mouth he had ever seen. He decided the safest course of action was to just... lean his head back against the couch and watch and _not_ try to speak, lest he say something drunkenly, excitedly stupid and shatter the illusion of this otherwise perfect moment.

Gabriel placed his hand on the back of Jack's head, black-painted fingernails dragging along the blond's scalp while he pumped his hips from side to side, paying attention to what sort of things Jack responded to the most. The entire club seemed to be in an uproar, with at least a dozen of Gabriel's regulars coming out of the woodwork to watch the dance, jealousy thinly veiled on their shadowed faces. From _this_ angle, at least, Gabriel knew Jack was too preoccupied to notice— the last thing he wanted was the poor guy to get done in by stage fright, especially when he seemed so delighted to have his face an inch away from Gabriel's dick.

With the hand still buried in Jack's hair, Gabriel surged forward during a particular verse of the song he'd chosen, pulling Jack's head _into_ his crotch, a move he typically reserved for obvious-virgins or boys he knew were here because they were hunting for their next dish of big black cock. Luckily, he'd made the decision to wear a _soft_ packer tonight— so he didn't stab Jack's eye out with the hip-thrust, or anything equally mood-ruining.

Gabriel rolled his hips forward against Jack's face once, twice, three times before releasing the fistful of blond hair and dropping into a squat, his scantily-clad ass now hovering _just_ above Jack's lap.

All of a sudden Jack's nose was full of the unfamiliar smell of latex, sweat and body oil and musk. Jack's heart jumped painfully in his chest in surprise, feeling rather like he'd just lost a good part of his virginity in that moment. That was _definitely_ the closest he had been to someone's crotch, much less a hot guy's _dick_ , and his own cock was responding in kind.

Then, he could see Gabriel's face and the rest of the club really ceased to matter, or even exist at all. Jack was totally entranced, mouth hanging slightly open before he seemed to remember himself. "Hey," he rasped, quietly, almost hesitantly. "Can I—"  _Don't fucking stutter, Morrison._ "—touch you?"

(Most men didn't ask; those most got their dance cut short, or even told to leave.)

If he _had_ done so without asking, Gabriel would have stopped the dance then and there— he didn't tolerate men who couldn't keep their hands to themselves, no matter _how_ cute they were, but— "You wanna touch me,baby-daddy?" In this position, Gabriel could have simply pulled his shorts to the side and rubbed his bare asshole on Jack's crotch, but he doubted Jack could handle something quite so obscene, and he didn't want to embarrass the boy further by making him come in his pants fifty seconds into his first-ever lap dance.

_Later_ , maybe, he could get a little raunchier. "You after my tits, or my ass?" Gabriel slid his hands enticingly up his own chest, no longer squatting but settled comfortably in Jack's lap, twisting his pierced nipples and fondling his muscular pecs as if offering them up for attention. 

Jack had never heard a man call his pecs 'tits' before, except as a joke, and it made him feel even hotter than he'd felt before. That was a very hard question to answer, honestly, because every part of Gabriel's body was appealing; his chest was full and muscular, and so was his ass, _and_ his thighs, all emphasized by the slimness of his waist; that extraordinary hourglass figure Jack hadn't even thought possible 'til he'd seen Gabriel on stage.

He swallowed heavily before answering; it was becoming difficult not to squirm, definitely hard in his jeans under the dancer. "If I _had_ to pick...; your ass."

Gabriel chuckled, though the sound was more of a throaty _purr_ than a legitimate laugh. "Ass man, huh?" Not that Gabriel could blame him; there probably wasn't a single man in the club who wouldn't bend over backwards for a chance to grope Gabriel's ass, and the club's most popular dancer prided himself on being so undeniably desirable.

Without missing a beat, Gabriel removed himself from Jack's lap, movements as graceful and languid as a cat's. "You're lucky," at an appropriately-throbbing bass line, Gabriel turned around, reaching behind himself to stroke gloved hands up the full globes of his ass cheeks. "I'm feeling _real_ generous today, _papi_." In these shorts, Gabriel may as well have been naked— his asshole was _barely_ obscured by the skintight latex, and Gabriel hoped the wide-eyed farm-boy behind him wasn't going to have a heart attack from the sight alone. "Go ahead; touch me."

It certainly felt to Jack like he was going to die, from one thing or another— from a heart attack, from fainting and hitting his head, from something equally horrible along those lines.

But, oh, it would be _so_ worth it.

Rough-skinned, broad hands slid shyly up Gabriel's thighs, first, then over the curve of his hips, and finally rested his palms against the thick muscle of his ass.

Yeah, Jack could die happy just from touching this man, eyes flickering over the sway of his hips and the curve of his spine.

"You're..." Jack no longer cared about anyone else in the room, buzzed on beer and the high of finally getting what he wanted, after so many years of denying himself. "Fucking _beautiful_."

'Beautiful' wasn't a word most men would use to describe a stripper; Gabriel felt oddly flattered by the chosen word, despite the way his stomach twisted at the unfamiliar compliment. "Bet you wanna eat it," he crooned, pushing his ass back into Jack's hands as if he were just as desperate for the touch as Jack was to touch him. His hips didn't stay still for a moment, not even while Jack caressed his bare skin, curvaceous body swaying and responding to the deafening music permeating the club as if he could feel each and every beat within his veins. "You _can_ bury your face in it, if you want—" 

At the suggestion, Jack made a noise that might have been a suppressed, nervous laugh, thumbs touching the tips of Gabriel's fingers where he was touching himself. _Shit_ , his head was spinning; dirty talk had always seemed ridiculous to him, something porn stars did and no one else, ever, not in real life. Yet here he was _now_ , having to steady his breathing as Gabriel asked him obscene question after obscene question.

He had no preconception that Gabriel actually enjoyed this; it was his job, after all, and Jack was undoubtedly just another lap to grind on. But fuck if he didn't make it look— and _sound_ — convincing.

Jack bit his lip briefly, hands moving up, thumbs on the dimples above his ass cheeks. He leaned forward with a little trepidation, dragging hot lips over hotter, sweat-slick skin above the latex.

There was something overwhelming about the sensation of the stranger's lips against his skin, Jack's uneven breath cooling the sweat on the small of his back as he buried his face into Gabriel's burning skin. _Fuck_ , that hadn't been what he'd meant— usually, clients would _literally_ shove their faces into the crack of his ass if he offered up something like this, desperate to get a whiff of his taint or a taste of his asshole. _Jack_ , though— this was almost intimate, being able to feel the softness of his lips, and the barest hints of invisible stubble as he explored the curve of Gabriel's lower back with his mouth.

All of a sudden, Gabriel _really_ wanted this guy's sweet kisses much  _lower_ , wanted to feel that inexperienced mouth on his hole; on his cunt—

"Ah-ah," Gabriel spun back around, wagging his finger dismissively in front of Jack's face before shoving his way back into his lap. "Don't get greedy with it, daddy. You're gonna make all my other fanboys too jealous."

He needed to get this over with, and preferably quickly, no matter how much he was enjoying himself. Rather, he needed to get it over with _because_ of how much he was enjoying himself.

He couldn't _believe_ he was getting wet while doing this—  _Christ_ , he needed to get laid—

Jack had _not_ removed his hands from Gabriel's ass, though, now hanging onto him as he rolled down against his erection. Jack was doing something unusual for Gabriel's usual clients, and that was apparently being more enthralled by his _face_ than anything else. It wasn't as if he wasn't staring at his body, too, but for most of the rest of the song, those intensely blue eyes watched the curve of his mouth, catching the peek of his tongue, and biting at his own lip as if he wanted to kiss him.

When the song ended, Jack reached into his pocket and slipped three bills into the back of Gabriel's shorts— very crisp hundreds, and managed to say "thanks" without entirely choking on it.

Jack hadn't even been lecherous enough to stick that tip; three-fucking-hundred dollars in cash, too, _Christ_ , what'd this guy do for a living; anywhere other than in the waistband of his shorts, no matter that _most_ men aimed to slip their cash as close to Gabriel's dick as possible. Gabriel simply tucked the generous tip away with a smile, offering Jack one more enticing bounce of his tits before turning away, winking coyly at the man from over his shoulder as he sauntered backstage— hips swaying seductively all the while.

* * *

"I need to get screwed _so_ fucking bad," Gabriel was leaning over the communal men's washroom sink, trying to keep as close to the mirror as possible to reapply his sweat-smudged eyeliner despite the club's horrendous lighting. "Do you know how long it's been since I got _hard_ during a gig, Jesse? Fuck me. I feel like a newbie."

Gabriel had cooled his head for a few moments backstage before heading to the washroom for a makeup touch-up, now wearing a form-fitting black tank and jean cut-offs— with the same fuck-me boots as before, of course. "I seriously panicked for a minute, like, I was _actually_ afraid I'd get his lap wet if I sat down again."

Unbeknownst to the gossiping dancers— whose conversation he couldn't hear above the club's music, Jack leaned his head against the wall of the bathroom stall he currently occupied, the bassline thrumming rhythmically through his body. If he breathed really deeply, maybe his heart would stop pounding; he'd been in here for a while, and he didn't want any of his friends to come looking for him. Not in _this_ state.

It had, embarrassingly, taken him about three hard strokes to come into his hand, forehead in the crook of his elbow; thinking of the taste of the dancer's skin, just how hot his ass had felt under his palms, how heavy he was in his lap... the smell of latex and musk and cologne in his nose as his face was forced into the man's cock. Of _course_ he had to go jerk off—

_Get it together, Morrison, you sad, drunk, closeted fuck._  

He needed to wash his hands, and to stop himself before he began delving into any drunken introspection. Jack wiped the sticky remnants off his fingers with toilet paper and opened the stall door, only to come face to face with the ass that was probably going to haunt his dreams for the rest of forever.

Gabriel all but kicked Jesse's own scantily-clad ass on his way out of the washroom, water still dripping out of the other man's beard as he returned to work, smugly laughing all the while. They'd been friends for as long as both men had worked at the club, and had been fuck-buddies for nearly as long; Jesse'd looked positively delighted when Gabriel had pulled him aside tonight, growling a rather callous " _blow me_ ," at him while swiftly pushing skintight latex down his thighs.

So, they'd had to come into the washroom to rinse Jesse's beard off—  _and_ to cool down, of course, if only for a few minutes before returning to work.

Gabriel sighed, turning his attention back to his own reflection, eyeliner pencil still in hand.

He paid no mind to the stall door creaking open behind him— at least, that was, not until _he_ emerged from it, looking just as flustered as Gabriel still felt. The bleach-blond farm-boy he'd been thinking of as Jesse'd eaten his pussy raw, barely minutes ago. "... Oh. Hey."

Jack's mouth went dry.

[FIN]


End file.
